


The Haunted

by TammyRenH



Series: Hurt/comfort bingo [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Death, Haunting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:27:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26150374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TammyRenH/pseuds/TammyRenH
Summary: The world should have ended six months ago, for Sam it did.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Series: Hurt/comfort bingo [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1827415
Comments: 12
Kudos: 58





	The Haunted

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the “haunted” square of my hurt/comfort bingo card

_Hold onto your voice. Hold onto your breath. Don’t make a noise,_  
don’t leave the room until I come back from the dead for you. I will  
come back from the dead for you. 

Richard Silken bot

Sam was alone when he stepped into the welcoming spray of the shower.

A few seconds later he shivered as the temperature dropped several degrees, despite the warm rush of water pouring over his head, shivered too as he felt the barest of touches on his hip, the possessive stroke of not-quite-there fingers.

“Dean.”

“I sure as hell hope you weren’t expecting anyone else.” 

A wisp of a voice to go with the wisps of his touches.

Sam shook the water out of his hair, vision blurry as he faced his brother and braced himself for the bright flare of loss.

It was Dean, same beautiful face, the same eyes Sam had looked to for reassurance when he was a child, for comfort as he got older, the same smirk that had led Sam into temptation when he was older still. 

The same, but not the same in ways that hurt Sam so deep that nothing could ever reach the pain.

Not even Dean.

Sam turned off the shower.

There were questions without answers. Where Dean had been, how long he could stay, why he was still Dean and hadn’t devolved into a white hot mass of fury. Sam wasn’t sure he wanted the answers anyway.

“Don’t get dressed on my account,” Dean said, as Sam reached for his sweatpants. “I was enjoying the view.”

Sam responded with a roll of his eyes and bit down the ache in him that wanted to pull his brother into his arms, cling to him, drown in his comfort. Vapor and dust could not be touched, at least not in the way he needed to. 

“You look skinny,” Dean commented as Sam made his way into the hallway. “Too damn skinny. Also, you could use a shave. And a fucking haircut.”

Sam pushed his hair away from his face, automatic pilot. “Did you come all this way just to nag at me?”

Dean stood there; barely visible arms folded over his barely visible chest. “Yes. Now eat.”

Sam obediently headed to the kitchen.

Six months Dean had been gone. Six months and Sam had not left the bunker, not once. The world should have ended, but the world soldiered on. The world had been wiped clean of gods and angels, monsters, Dean. 

Everything Sam needed from the outside world could be delivered. What he needed the most, popped in when he could. Sam spent his days and nights aching for something he could not longer have or hold.

Dean said nothing as Sam fixed an egg-white omelet, browned some wheat toast, sipped what would be the first in several cups of coffee. Just watched Sam, with an intensity that was both flattering and unnerving.

Dean had promised Sam he’d never abandon him, the eggs sat uneasy in his stomach, the coffee too bitter.

Breakfast dispensed, Sam wandered to the library. Dean followed.

Sam was no longer a hunter. Nor a son, a friend, a brother, a lover. Now he spent his days online, hunting a different kind of monster.

The internet was full of unsolved murders and other crimes. Sam spent hours, days, researching, digging, scouring, poking in deep dark corners.

It was a way to pass the time, which was endless and in needing of filling or Sam would have drowned by now.

Sam paused as he opened his laptop. Dean was hovering over him, his presence thin, tenacious.

“I don’t suppose you could tell me – “

“I have to go.” Dean replied.

Sam’s heart tensed and then dipped; he should never have ventured to ask.

“Will you be back?” Sam asked. He asked this every time. Rituals were important. Even now. Especially now.

Dean leaned over; Sam closed his eyes. The barest of touches to his forehead, his nose, his lips. If he pretended hard enough, he could actually feel Dean’s lips touching his skin. He was getting exceptionally good at pretending, better than he was at existing.

“I’m never going to leave you.” And it was a promise and a threat, and the only hope Sam could possibly hold on to.

Sam kept his eyes closed; he had already seen Dean slip away too many times.

When he opened them again, he was alone.


End file.
